


Common Ground

by Esteliel



Category: Les Misérables (Dallas 2014)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Javert Lives, Javert's Fetish Leather Coat, M/M, Sex Club, Shaving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-08 15:10:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8849770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: Valjean wasn't actually quite sure what he'd expected. Perhaps something equally as obscene and hilarious as that porno he'd stumbled upon. But there were other rooms than just this lounge, and as Javert led him down a stair, he saw that there was a basement as well. A dungeon, Valjean thought and could barely keep back a small snort.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Verabird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verabird/gifts).



> Thank you to Miss M for the beta help, you are the best! <3

The problem with Javert was that the guy didn't know when to stop.

It wasn't enough that Valjean had allowed himself to be kissed, touched, or taken out on a date. He'd even allowed Javert to— _fuck him_ , which was the rather crude suggestion Javert had eventually whispered into his ear, all bright-eyed and hard, thinking not even for a moment of their past.

Of course, Valjean had quickly discovered that for some perverse reason, a part of him liked Javert's crudeness. And the same part of him liked Javert eager and hard. Perhaps in the end, there was nothing scary to it. Javert never looked as harmless as when he was naked, nothing but pallid skin and leaking cock, and all the urgency of a teenager.

To this day, he wasn't quite sure whether Javert had ever realized that his reservations had gone beyond the fact that he'd never let anyone fuck him before, as Javert had so eloquently put it.

Anyway, these things had happened, and happened again. And by this point, with Javert practically living in his bedroom, surely it was too late for compunction.

Still, Valjean felt that Javert ought to be more grateful. They'd been blessed with more than what they deserved. To ask for more—he'd never taken Javert for a greedy man.

But then, he was daily learning new things about Javert. Like the fact that there was a very amateurishly hidden collection of weird porn on his laptop. Or the fact that Javert frequented some sort of fetish club in this city. Valjean hadn't even known that such a thing existed, but apparently there was a holiday party coming up—for charity, Javert had claimed shamefacedly, as though that news would make it all right—and Javert had acquired two tickets for it.

Which was how Valjean had found himself in a cab with Javert, shaking his head at the fact that he was sitting here with his _boyfriend_ , as the taxi driver had put it, a boyfriend who was wearing his police-slash-fascist leather fetish coat. At least it was blessedly free of any and all police insignia.

Valjean wasn't even sure whether Javert’s discretion was out of thoughtfulness for Valjean, rather than a simple desire not to disrespect his profession.

“Have fun,” the driver told him ominously as Valjean left the car. The club was in one of the sleazier corners of the town, although the outside was blessedly nondescript. If a neighbor saw him, he could always say that it was a charity event...

Quietly rueful, Valjean smiled to himself. He would have come to this place without a second thought for neighbors or being recognized, if it had truly been for charity, or some sort of outreach program. But to come here for—entertainment? Indulgence?—seemed harder to justify, especially to himself.

“This way,” Javert murmured and hustled him through an unmarked door. Inside, there was a tired-looking bouncer who let them pass without a second glance, though he gave Javert a small nod. How often had Javert come here before, Valjean wondered again, before they stopped at a makeshift table littered with flyers, what looked like a list of rules printed in Comic Sans, and a bored goth kid who didn't even meet Valjean's eyes.

“Can't get him in like that,” the kid said to Javert. “You know the rules. Fetish, latex, leather, evening wear's all fine. But not like that.”

Confused, Valjean looked down at himself. He was wearing a simple shirt of white cotton—too small, too tight, he'd never have bought it for himself. But Javert liked that it showed off his arms, or so he'd claimed. If evening wear was fine, why had Javert not let him wear a suit instead? He'd have felt more at ease in a crisp shirt and his gray jacket. Those, at least, were a disguise he had been used to wearing for two decades.

“Take it off,” Javert said a little nervously. Valjean could tell by the way he shifted. Javert wasn't usually so fidgety.

Still baffled, Valjean took hold of the bottom of his shirt. After another questioning look at Javert— _really?_ —he began to pull it off, more uncomfortable now, but also determined to see this charade through.

That was the thing with Javert. He had all these weird ideas eating away at him. Had kept them bottled up for years, apparently, if that porn collection on his laptop was anything to go by. But the real thing wasn't like porn.

Valjean himself had never understood the appeal. There had been nothing... _real_ about that one video still he'd seen on Javert's laptop: the stereotype of a cop, the prisoner bending over. They hadn't even got the uniform right, least of all the details.

And what did all that say about Javert?

But to go along with Javert's weird ideas once would hopefully be enough. Whatever Javert hoped to get out of this, it would turn out to be ridiculous instead of one of his twisted fantasies. They'd probably just stand around uncomfortably for a while. Maybe Javert would have a beer, and then they'd leave after an hour. Javert would be even more uncomfortable and try to apologize in the cab, not quite meeting his eyes, and at home Valjean would let Javert fuck him, and then they'd fall asleep and not talk of this again.

There were a good deal of things they didn't talk about again. Sometimes Valjean could feel them weighing down on his chest until he feared he'd choke on it all.

But sometimes he'd also remember the look on Javert's face when he'd put that gun into his mouth, and if there were things they didn't talk about, perhaps in the end he wasn't the only one choking on a lifetime of despair.

Perhaps not talking and going out to fetish parties was the most normal they could ever be.

Uncomfortably rolling his shoulders, Valjean bunched up the shirt in his sweaty hand.

“Oh,” the kid said, sounding dazed all of a sudden as he stared. “Wow. Um. Nice! I see.”

“What does—” Valjean began, but Javert was already nudging him to walk along.

Still puzzled, Valjean contemplated his outfit. Javert had made him wear too-tight black jeans he'd brought along one day. Jeans hadn't been on the kid's list of acceptable clothing...

He nearly jumped when Javert's hand came to rest on his ass, squeezing possessively. He would have protested if they hadn't at that moment entered what seemed to be the main room of the event—or whatever you called this sort of thing.

Still stunned and quite doubtful about the entire endeavor, Valjean looked around. There was music playing. At one side of the room, there was a bar. There were more people than he would have expected—and more naked flesh than he'd thought to see outside communal prison showers ever again.

His heart had sped up in his chest. All of a sudden, he wished he'd found a way to talk Javert out of this. They could have stayed at home watching Netflix and then Javert could have fucked him, and Javert would have been happy enough. Or they could have put on one of Javert's weird pornos. Valjean would have preferred even that to whatever... _this_ was.

He half turned around, but as soon as he faced Javert he forgot what he'd been about to suggest.

Javert had unbuttoned his coat.

It now fell open, revealing that Javert wore nothing beneath.

If _nothing_ was what looked like a leather thong and leather stripes that crossed his chest like a harness. Gaping at the sight, Valjean was pretty certain that this could in fact be summarized as nothing.

“Let's get a drink,” Javert mumbled, not quite meeting his eyes.

Valjean followed him dazedly to the bar, wondering again how often Javert had been to this sort of place before. You didn't show up to a party in a leather coat wearing nothing beneath if that was your first time—right?

Valjean usually wasn't much of a drinker. There were all sorts of reasons he could give for it. The truth was that even after all these years, he'd never quite shed that fear of losing control and revealing that everyone had been right—that at the bottom of him, there'd been a beast hidden all along.

Tonight, he grabbed hold of the glass Javert slid his way without a second thought, gulping down the cheap liquor while he tried to calm his racing heart.

So they were at a fetish party and Javert was walking around like a streaker. So what. That was what people did at these things, wasn't it? In any case, Javert didn't seem disturbed by the whole experience. If Javert didn't mind people staring at his leather-clad dick, then surely everything was fine. It was Javert who was on display here, not he.

“Nice booty,” the bartender said with a little wink.

A second later, Valjean realized that it had been directed towards him. When he gave Javert a confused look, searching for reassurance, Javert was staring at him, too.

No, Javert was outright leering at him. And then that large hand settled on his ass once more, squeezing lightly.

Valjean swallowed, feeling himself flush, and wished there was anything left in his glass.

But then, it was that sort of party, wasn't it? Nothing out of the ordinary here at all.

“So,” he said after a deep breath to gather his courage. “How about you just show me what you come here for? Since it looks like you've been here before.”

“Um,” Javert said, and then stood. “All right. 

At least Javert had the good grace to be embarrassed. Surely that was something.

Valjean wasn't actually quite sure what he'd expected. Perhaps something equally as obscene and hilarious as that porno he'd stumbled upon. But there were other rooms than just this lounge, and as Javert led him down a stair, he saw that there was a basement as well. A dungeon, Valjean thought and could barely keep back a small snort.

"This is the dungeon," Javert said, a little too eager.

Of course. Of course it was the dungeon.

Valjean tried to look as non-judgmental as possible, but by the feverish gleam in Javert's eyes, he doubted that Javert would have noticed anyway.

At least he'd bring home a story to tell. Only there was no one to tell it to. Definitely not Cosette.

Valjean felt his face flush with heat as he reminded himself to make it once more absolutely clear to Javert to never ever mention this in the company of Cosette or her husband.

"So this is your favorite place?" he asked.

Javert nodded, eagerness in his eyes, his tongue coming out to moisten his lips. He seemed nervous. Valjean didn't feel particularly compassionate—he was the one forced to tour an honest-to-God dungeon with a boyfriend in a leather streaker outfit, after all. But at the same time, something in him softened for a moment when Javert reached out to grab his hand, and he found Javert's palm damp with sweat.

"Look, I know what this looks like." Javert couldn't quite meet his eyes. "Just... look at it. It's not... it's different once you get into it. I promise."

 _I'm not judging you_ , Valjean bit back, because it wasn't true. But damn, after the things Javert had judged him for all of his life, he deserved a bit of judging in return.

Instead, Valjean simply tilted his head in acquiescence, and then he followed Javert deeper into this _dungeon_.

Apparently the dungeon consisted of several rooms, all equipped with different equipment. Some Valjean recognized, other things seemed to come straight from a medieval torture chamber, yet others left him confused. Apparently it was too early yet for the dungeon to be crowded, though in two of the rooms they entered, the equipment was in use. Fortunately, Javert didn't force him to stay for long. Valjean didn't quite know what to think. There was a man inside a cage in one of the rooms, another guy tormenting him. Valjean rolled his shoulders in discomfort, staring at the bars and the way the man cowered in his cage, his face scrunched up in an expression that could have been agony or ecstasy.

"You want to put me into a cage? Thought we'd left that behind us," he couldn't resist saying when they finally left the room.

Javert's face fell, and Valjean immediately regretted the words. They spoke so rarely of these things, and if they did, never like this. Never with bitterness or accusations.

And it wasn't as if Javert had never tried to apologize. Javert carried enough guilt for ten men around with him these days. Not that Valjean wanted his guilt. He had enough guilt of his own, without the additional burden of Javert's, thank you very much. But always, there was that one moment when their eyes had met, Javert's mouth open around the barrel of the gun, and for that look, Valjean thought, for that look a man could forgive a lot.

Whatever Javert was, in that moment, they hadn't been so different.

“Sorry. That was uncalled for.” Suddenly Valjean felt tired.

It was all too much. Javert's outfit. The dungeon. The headache he could feel building. The guilt—the weight of that goddamn past he knew he'd never be able to set down, whereas Javert thought he could just switch off the memories and go pretend in a fetish club as if they'd never—

With effort, he shook off the thoughts. “Let's have another drink,” Valjean said with a tentative smile. “Sorry.”

“You don't have to apologize.” Javert was giving him a searching look. There was something vulnerable in the lines around his mouth, despite his ridiculous leather outfit. “I just thought... Anyway. Doesn't matter. You're here, that's what counts. Can't ask for more than that.”

Valjean's smile almost turned bitter again. Wasn't he, though?

“Let's get a beer or two.”

At least this time, Javert was answering his smile.

An hour later, it was getting more crowded, and Valjean was feeling a little more at ease. He still wasn't quite sure what had driven Javert to bring him here—but now that they were here, it wouldn't do to leave without doing whatever it was they'd come for.

“I assume you haven't just brought me here to show me off?” A smile was tugging at Valjean's lips as he looked at Javert leaning against the bar.

“Um. Actually,” Javert said, one of his arms coming up to tentatively curve around Valjean's waist. And then it slid just a little bit lower to rest on his butt again.

Of course.

“So there's something—but you don't have to,” Javert added immediately.

Valjean gently rolled his eyes at him. “I can't say yes or no until I know what it is.”

“Right. Right...” For a moment, Javert looked at him, clearly hesitating, but then he took a deep breath.

It was sort of endearing how Javert had to visibly brace himself for what was coming. It might have been more endearing if he'd told Valjean what to expect before coming here—but then, it was Javert, and Valjean had learned long ago not to expect too much progress all at once.

Javert led him back downstairs into the dungeon again.

“You don't have to do anything,” Javert murmured, his voice hushed. “I'm not... No cages. I promise.”

 _For now,_ Valjean couldn't resist adding mentally, but perhaps he was being unfair. Javert had rushed him into this place—but he'd never rushed him into anything else. Maybe he just needed to give him the benefit of the doubt.

There was a strange contraption in the room they entered. Valjean frowned at it, trying to make sense of the leather straps. As far as he could tell, it mostly looked like a giant swing. Or possibly something to use in a diamond heist.

“Mainly, I did want to show you off,” Javert finally admitted. Now that they were all alone in this room, he sounded a little more like himself.

Even the leather outfit didn't look quite as silly here. Valjean gave Javert a considering look and then tilted his head at him in invitation.

Javert came closer. Valjean reached out, carefully resting a hand against his chest. There beneath his fingers, he could feel Javert's heart beating, steady and strong, a little quicker than usual. Was that fear or excitement?

Perhaps a little of both. Valjean couldn't deny that by now, with just the two of them in this room, a little bit of excitement was starting to bubble up inside him as well.

“Look, I really don't know how to do this,” Valjean said at last, a small laugh of despair escaping him. “So if you want something, just tell me. I'll let you fuck me here, if that's what you want. Or you can do it at home. I just—”

“Is that what you're doing?” The look Javert gave him was a little hurt, and he stiffened, drawing back from Valjean. “Letting me fuck you? That's all it is?”

Valjean exhaled slowly. “I didn't mean it like that.”

Guilt twisted in his stomach at the look on Javert's face. He really hadn't meant it like that. It was true that it was sometimes hard to understand Javert's hunger for him—he'd want it twice every day, and Valjean really wouldn't mind if they'd keep it for the weekend instead. But at the same time—it wasn't like it was a sacrifice. By now, it was becoming hard to fall asleep without Javert's arms around him.

So why did he have to go and phrase it like that, even to himself?

“I'm not—you know I enjoy it,” Valjean said, flushing a little at the direction the conversation was taking. God knew that in the end, he was just as terrible as Javert at talking about these things.

“Look, I'm not good at this. I like it when we—you know. But I'm just—I feel out of place here. I'm sorry. I don't know what you want out of this, but whatever it is, I can't give it to you, and I'm—”

“It's okay,” Javert said softly. There was still a sort of stunned expression on his face, a bit of the old hurt which Valjean hadn't seen for a very long time. Javert was shifting his jaw. His fingers twitched, as if looking for something to hold on to—but he was naked beneath his coat, and there was nowhere to hide his hands.

Valjean bit back a small sigh. “I really botched this up, huh? Now I've ruined it for you.”

Javert shook his head. “It doesn't matter. I mean it, Valjean.” He looked a little uncomfortable, but he still continued. “It's just—I thought this would be fun. With you. But it's also—you're enough for me. Just you. If it's just you and your bed, that's more than enough.”

 _More than I deserve,_ he'd said once upon a time. Well, at least that was behind them.

Valjean took a step closer. Without speaking, he rested a hand on Javert's chest once again, a silent offer of peace.

“You shaved,” he then said. He tilted his head questioningly at Javert, something of the tension falling away as he consciously noticed Javert's smooth stomach for the first time.

His thighs were just as smooth. Where there was usually a generous scatter of dark, wiry hair, there was nothing but vulnerable skin now—and the black leather that barely kept his dick covered.

“It's, uh. I tried it on first without, and it didn't look—it didn't look good,” Javert muttered, grimacing a little when Valjean's fingers traced the line that used to be a trail of hair from his navel to his groin in fascination.

It was really smooth. Javert must have shaved today. The image should be hilarious, but somehow, with his hands on Javert's warm skin and with Javert so strangely bare beneath him, the thought wasn't unappealing.

It _was_ a little hilarious. But it was also strangely exciting to think about Javert readying himself for this outing. Trying to look good for him.

“I'm sorry, I haven't said anything about your outfit today,” Valjean murmured after a moment. “It's—it took me by surprise.”

“You like it?” There was some of the old eagerness back in Javert's voice.

His wilting dick also gave an excited little jolt in the leather pouch, Valjean noted with a wry smile.

“I used to just—you can change here, you know. Before, I never dared... But I thought of sitting in that taxi next to you. Completely naked beneath the coat. And I just...”

Javert's voice trailed off, and Valjean exhaled again. How had he ended up with this bewildering mess of a man?

Valjean allowed his fingers to travel further downward. Javert's skin was very smooth. Curiously, his fingertips traveled beneath the leather. He was smooth there, too.

For a moment, Valjean's throat went dry as he tried to imagine it. Where had he done it? In their bathroom, in the shower? As out of touch as Valjean felt with everything else in here, the thought of Javert standing in their shower, carefully shaving those sensitive areas, was weirdly intriguing.

Because it was for him. Because Javert might have an exhibitionist streak a mile wide and would show off just what he'd hidden beneath his coat to everyone in this club—but this surprise was just for Valjean. Valjean would be the only one falling asleep next to Javert this night. Valjean's hand was the only one that would touch Javert's bare skin.

Javert groaned a little, his eyes unfocused as Valjean's fingers moved to push the leather thong down until he could wrap his hand around Javert's dick. It looked weird like this, too: larger than usual without the patch of wiry curls covering the root of his cock. He'd shaved his balls as well, Valjean noted. He stepped even closer, until they were chest to chest. Then he used his other hand to tentatively cradle Javert's balls, feeling the smooth skin rest heavily in his palm.

“You like it,” Javert said hopefully.

Valjean made a thoughtful sound. The entire trip here had been one of Javert's mad ideas—he'd gone along because somehow, he'd come to genuinely love this man with all his contradictions. But not once had he expected that he'd actually end up enjoying himself.

Maybe Javert had hoped he'd be intrigued by the sex swing. Or the cages. But Valjean couldn't change his reactions, as little as Javert could change his own mad needs.

Still, there was something stirring in Valjean's belly as he kept running his fingers over the smooth skin, listening to Javert’s moans. Maybe there was some common ground after all.

He tightened his fingers a little. By the sound Javert made, he could tell that he liked it. Usually, Valjean was more than content to go along with whatever Javert wanted—but it seemed Javert wanted this too. For Valjean to take the lead for once. And he guessed that after his earlier slip, he owed Javert this much at least.

It wasn't quite what he'd expected coming here. It probably wasn't what Javert had expected either—he must have hoped for more, with that outfit. But in the end, standing in a dungeon with his head resting against Javert's shoulder, Javert's pants loud and harsh in his ears, being here wasn't quite as frightening as he'd thought it would be.

When Javert's release came spurting hot over his fingers, Javert's hands tightened desperately around his arms and he groaned his name. Despite himself, Valjean smiled a little at the picture they had to make.

No, even with Javert all dressed in leather, there was nothing about this that wasn't familiar to him.

When they were done, the embers of arousal in Valjean's stomach were still glowing steadily. He didn't mind waiting, he never had. But now, he was looking forward to making good use of Javert's near insatiable stamina, once they made it back home.

***

The following week, Javert didn't bring up the sex club again. Nevertheless, every now and then, Valjean's mind started to wander. It would be so easy to text Javert and ask for a picture. He didn't quite understand why, but the image of Javert shaved, all smooth and vulnerable, hadn't left him. Several times, he found himself idly wondering about what it felt like growing back in. Did it itch? Was Javert giving himself beard burn when trying to jerk off?

And he would be trying to. Javert had been gone for half the week for what he called a dull training thing, and Valjean had been likewise busy. They'd agreed to wait until the weekend to see each other again. But now Valjean's palms were itching, and he ran them idly over his leg, smoothing his pants over his thigh as he tried to make sense of the strange anticipation within him.

Tomorrow he'd drive back home from the charity event he'd gotten roped into. Javert had made it back home two days ago. He'd be waiting. There was no need for this impatience—after all, Valjean was used to waiting. He had been forced to wait much longer, for so many other things.

Perhaps that was why. For the first time in his life, there was no reason to wait if he didn't want to. There was no reason not to ask for this thing—save for his embarrassment, and the dim belief he couldn't quite shake that even wanting this was an impulse that should be smothered.

But he was a free man now. He could do whatever he wanted. Even text his—text Javert and ask for a picture.

His face burning, he did just that. It didn't even take a minute until his phone beeped at him. Jesus, had Javert just been waiting for him to ask? _I'm too old for this_ , Valjean thought and shook his head.

But then the picture popped up on his screen, and it was worth the embarrassment. On the photo, Javert was hard. It was the middle of the day, and Javert was hard, and how had he managed to take the picture so quickly anyway? Had he ducked into an empty room at work or a bathroom stall or—

Determinedly, Valjean brushed the thoughts away. Some things it was better not to know. What mattered was that Javert had sent him the picture he'd asked for, and he could no longer pretend that it had been just a whim, or something he'd done to indulge one of Javert's weird fantasies.

Javert's dick was proudly standing up for the picture, showing off its full size unabashed. There was just enough visible that he could make out the curve of his balls and where there was usually a patch of dark hair. There was some hair to be seen, but it was sparser than usual, looking strangely bristly. Long enough to itch, Valjean supposed. He'd half wondered if Javert had shaved it off again just to deal with the itching, but it seemed he'd been too busy to do so—or just too deflated, after how that fetish party had gone.

Valjean smiled slowly to himself, still a little unsettled by the steady glow of arousal in his stomach. He couldn't even say when he'd last felt like this. Had he ever felt like this? Asking Javert for incriminating pictures was so unlike anything he'd ever do—but at the same time, the proof that Javert was all too eager to show off for him was strangely charming.

He couldn't quite say what drove him to act. Perhaps it was simply the memory of Javert's falling face at the club and the constant awareness that he'd let Javert down in some way—not by not enjoying the outing, but by insinuating that most days, he was simply giving in to Javert's desires. 

Which, truthfully, he often was—but it was never a sacrifice. He wanted Javert. Perhaps, because it was still so new and unexpected, sometimes it was easier to tell himself that he didn't want it as much as Javert did. But in the end, he wanted him, and he wanted the hours they'd spend making love, and if it sometimes got too much, Javert had never continued pressing him when Valjean hadn't felt like it.

Letting Javert believe otherwise was unkind and beneath him.

It was with this thought still in mind that he opened the door for Javert the next evening. The weekend was coming up; Javert would spend it at his place, which was not only larger than Javert's, especially now that Cosette had moved out, but was also situated in a quiet, residential area with tree-lined street and large parks. If the weather was right, they could go out for a walk tomorrow—but first, there was an entire evening and night at their disposal.

The embers of arousal flared up with new heat when Javert came in. The first thing he did was to cup Valjean's face in his large hands, and for a moment Valjean forgot all his worries as he allowed himself to be kissed until he felt dizzy.

Strange that this still made him feel so good. Every kiss was as much a surprise as the first had been. Every kiss, every touch made something in him shiver, as though his body still couldn't quite believe in the reality of such affection after the many years of violence.

But it was real. All of it.

Gently, he rubbed a thumb along Javert's beard, making a contented sound against his mouth. Javert smelled like cheap aftershave and the crisp, cold air outside, and it sent a shiver of delight through Valjean. One week since he'd woken to this smell on his pillow. One week since Javert had smiled at him over the breakfast table.

"I want to—" Javert said brokenly, already hard against his thigh.

Valjean laughed softly, sudden exhilaration bubbling up inside him. Javert was predictable, but there was nothing wrong with that, was there? He wouldn't be Javert otherwise.

Javert pulled him towards the bedroom. They'd done this a hundred times; there should be nothing out of the ordinary about this encounter and what would follow. Still, this time, Javert stopped, eyes widening.

"What," he said, that handsome, bearded face going slack with surprise. "Did you—"

"Come on," Valjean said, another laugh threatening to escape at how well his surprise had worked. "Let's get that off you. It's been a week. I thought you might want some help... if you don't mind, that is," he added a little more shyly.

Dumbfounded, Javert shook his head. He licked his lips as he took off his coat and folded it carefully, then hung it over the back of a chair.

Pleased with himself, Valjean began to unbutton Javert's shirt. This time, there was no leather harness revealed beneath, but Valjean didn't mind. Starting things slowly had always felt like the better option to him anyway. One thing after the other.

Teasingly, he ran his knuckles over the bulge in Javert's jeans. His cock was hard. Valjean massaged a little more firmly than he would usually do and was rewarded with a moan. His smile widened, and he popped open the buttons until Javert's dick sprang free, as eager and hungry as Javert himself.

"Take off those jeans," he said, still smiling, "and then sit down."

He nodded towards one of the comfortable chairs he'd brought in from the living room. There was a towel spread over it. Next to it, he'd pulled up a small table, on top of which rested a bowl with warm water, a towel, and his shaving utensils.

"Oh," Javert said a little weakly, then he licked his lips again. "Sure." His dick was still hard; in fact, Valjean was sure he'd just seen it give an interested little jerk.

Resisting the urge to shake his head in amusement, Valjean went over to the table. 

He began by whipping the soap into a lather. He must have done it a hundred times before, perhaps even a thousand times. But now, for the first time, his hands were shaking a little, his breath coming faster as he looked at the rising mountain of foam. He did not look at Javert, but even so, his heart was pounding in his chest, a similar rhythm pulsing between his own legs.

He ignored it as much as he could. When there was enough foam, he carefully went to his knees before Javert, taking in the harsh way Javert inhaled, his pupils so wide his eyes seemed black, and his cock giving another jerk. Valjean's smile was shaky, but even so, his own dick was now pressing against his pants with definite interest.

Slowly, he began to apply the foam to the base of Javert's cock, spreading the lather all around. Once or twice, the back of his hand brushed hot skin. He was so close that he could see Javert's balls shift at the touch.

Valjean had to swallow. He put the foam and brush aside, then took hold of the razor and the towel. It was an old-fashioned kit which he'd received as a gift one day; he did not use it often but even so, he was comfortable enough with a straight razor that he'd contemplated using it on Javert. Javert would probably have loved that. But in the end, he'd elected a simple disposable razor, and given how his hands were trembling now, he was glad for it.

Perhaps some other time—if there would be another time. Perhaps one day in the future, this would stop making his fingers shake. But for now, it was all he could do not to lose his grip on the razor as he took hold of Javert's cock with the other hand, and then began to draw the razor over the skin at its base, scraping away both foam and hair.

Javert groaned. Valjean could feel his dick pulse in his hand, but even so, Javert didn't move.

It was easier than Valjean had feared. The motion was repetitive and strangely calming; after a few swipes of the razor, familiarity won over, his hands stopped shaking so much, and he grew bolder.

The hairs were still short; still, it was easy to see the progress he made. Every swipe of the blade revealed a swatch of pale, perfectly smooth skin. Slowly, he made his way all around Javert's dick. For good measure, he shaved along the trail that led down from Javert's navel as well, the muscles of Javert's stomach shifting and contracting beneath his touch.

At last, Valjean set the razor aside. Javert's cock had swollen to an impressive purple-red, and he was taken by the sudden urge to press his lips to it. For a moment, he hesitated—but then the heat shifting in his stomach made him feel bold, and he leaned forward.

The crown was already wet, and he could taste bitterness on his tongue as he gave it a tentative lick. A muffled groan escaped Javert; encouraged, Valjean pressed his lips to the ridge beneath, and then, slowly, wrapped his lips around the entire head.

It had never been his favorite thing to do; something about the act had always made him feel self-conscious. As if Javert’s eyes on him reduced him to what he'd been back then, the convict. But today, something made him want to try, and the need twisting inside him was enough to ignore the anxieties that welled up within him.

The head of Javert's cock was hot and slick, the shaft heavy on his tongue, and a muffled moan escaped him as he tried to swivel his tongue around it.

Javert suddenly tensing was all the warning he got before a rush of heat filled his mouth, bitter fluid pooling on his tongue. Even though he drew back immediately, he was left with a mouthful of come.

Usually, they had tissues by the bed, and he'd discreetly spit it out. But now, with Javert still watching him with dazed eyes, his cock wet and red and _still hard_ , damn the man, Valjean shuddered and then made himself swallow. It was bitter; he hated the consistency of it going down his throat, but Javert was staring at him, looking completely overwhelmed, and Valjean's own cock was throbbing demandingly.

Self-consciously, he touched his tongue to his lip. Javert groaned again.

"We're not done yet," Valjean made himself say.

His heart was pounding in his chest, his pulse racing. He still felt embarrassed, and he still didn't think he _liked_ doing this—but it was as if something inside him had been set on fire, pulling him forward. Or maybe for some perverse reason, his reluctance to swallow was what had his body so excited. And Javert looked excited enough, too. He hadn't taken his eyes off him once.

Still watching him, Valjean deliberately leaned forward and then licked a long string of come from Javert's cock.

The taste was still revolting; all the same, he swallowed it regardless as the heat within him grew, the steady throb of arousal leading him to take up the small bowl and the brush once more.

This time, the lather he'd whipped up was spread over Javert's balls.

They were heavy, drawn up tightly despite Javert's orgasm, and when Valjean at last took the razor to them, there was already another bead of fluid leaking from Javert's cock.

No wonder Javert was insatiable, he thought somewhat disbelieving. How often did he have to jerk off when Valjean wasn't around?

The balls shifted as he drew the razor over them, taking off all the hair and lather with short, careful swipes. Their shape made it a more difficult task—but also more rewarding, given that Javert was holding back small groans every time Valjean's hand moved.

At last, Valjean put the razor aside. He used the bowl of warm water and the towel to gently clean Javert, and then he stood, taking a good look at his work.

The sight made him swallow. Javert looked exactly as he had that night a week ago. There was something strangely vulnerable about the sight of all that smooth, bare skin—but also something a little wicked, a bold exhibitionism in Javert's spread thighs and the eager cock proudly jutting up at him.

Valjean licked his lips again, remembering the sensation of Javert's cock jerking in his mouth, the look in Javert's eyes as he swallowed.

"Are we done now?" There was enough desperation in Javert's voice to make the question a plea.

Silently, Valjean shook his head. He reached into his pocket to fish out the lube, then handed it to Javert.

"Go on. Use it," he said, his own hands going to the button of his slacks.

It was a relief to get out of his clothes. Baring his aroused body to Javert's watching—judging?—eyes still made him feel insecure, but it was easier this time to ignore those thoughts. In any case, Javert was well distracted.

Had Javert even gone soft for a second after the first time he'd come? He looked even harder now as he smoothed the lube all over himself, grimacing once and firmly tightening his fingers around the base of his dick to stave off orgasm at his own touch.

Or was it because he was watching Valjean?

Jesus, Valjean thought, his legs suddenly weak. He couldn't take his eyes off the sight of him, all bared and smooth. Maybe Javert should have looked ridiculous, like a sleazy porn star, but instead he looked... He looked good. 

The longing within him was fierce now, like little pricks of need running up his spine, his own cock aching until he gave it a self-conscious little jerk, flushing at the appreciative moan Javert gave him in return. Javert was still watching, that leer he'd seen in the club last week returning at last.

This time, Valjean supposed he'd given Javert something to leer at. It kindled more heat in his belly, pulling him forward until he was close enough to reach out and take hold of one of Javert's shoulders.

Then he straddled him. Slowly, he sank down, Javert's eyes widening as he watched. Valjean bit his lip when Javert's cock brushed against him. At last Javert seemed to catch up on what he was doing, reaching down to steady his own cock—and Valjean kept sinking down, his lips parting for a voiceless gasp as he was breached and slowly, slowly filled.

They'd never done it quite like this before. Javert was adventurous, but for most of their time together, Valjean had felt too shy for Javert's more outrageous ideas. Of course, at first anything other than doing it beneath the covers in their bed had seemed outrageous to him. That was well before the visit to the fetish party.

But even though by now, there wasn't a single room in his home where they hadn't done it, this seemed new and different. In this position, Javert somehow felt even larger, pressing up against him from inside until Valjean shifted, feeling full and overwhelmed by the way that even without moving, Javert's dick was stimulating him in all the right places.

Then, experimentally, he began to slowly move up and down. It gained him another groan, Javert's arms coming forward to wrap around his waist. One hand settled on his butt, curving around him while he kept moving.

"God," Javert groaned hoarsely. "You're gorgeous. You look... you look good like this. Fucking yourself on me."

A sound escaped Valjean, a dizzy, helpless moan as something inside his stomach tightened at the filthy words. It sounded dirty, the way Javert phrased it—but he was right. That was what Valjean was doing.

Breathlessly, he trailed a hand down Javert's stomach, tracing the sensitive, shaved skin, feeling that same smooth skin brush against him as he took Javert in to the root.

It felt amazing. It _was_ amazing. He leaned forward, and Javert hungrily met him, kissing him while his fingers dug deep into the skin of Valjean's buttock. And still Valjean kept rising and falling, the muscles of his thighs straining as Javert filled him, again and again.

"Want to come inside you," Javert gasped against his mouth, that silver beard scratching gently against his cheek.

Javert licked at his lips, and embarrassed, Valjean wondered whether his mouth tasted of his come. That thought, too, sent heat spiraling through him until the pressure inside him was becoming unbearable, sparks of fire shooting through him every time he slid down and Javert's cock pressed just there.

"Want to watch you sleep with my come inside you."

Valjean groaned, cheeks flushing with heat. His body arched against Javert—and then he was overcome, his climax rushing through him even as his body tightened around Javert's own throbbing cock.

Javert was panting against his cheek. Valjean's eyes had fallen closed. Inside him, he could feel the heat of Javert's release, Javert's cock still pulsing, thick and hot, when Valjean had finished spurting warm strings of come all over Javert's stomach.

What a mess. Valjean wasn't quite sure how to move away without making the mess even worse—and one of them would have to clean the chair before they'd be able to move it back to where it belonged.

But right now, with Javert's cock still big and warm inside him and with Javert's heart beating frantically against his own chest, he felt perfectly comfortable and more than a bit embarrassed. Still, both cleaning and embarrassment could wait for later, he supposed, gently running a hand over Javert's silver hair before he kissed him again.

He still felt no desire to go back to that fetish club. Nor was he particularly eager to see that leather coat in their bedroom.

Still, there were things he didn't mind. Things he desired, even. And if Javert could be brave enough to drag him half-naked to a fetish party with its own dungeon, then maybe Valjean could be brave enough to stop pretending that he was letting Javert do things to him. In the end, neither of them had ever liked being at the other's mercy. And with all that they had already overcome, maybe facing his own desires together with Javert's wouldn't be quite so scary after all.


End file.
